


protect the brand

by ymorton



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 14:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11853171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: lovett/tim miller, post-loli. i am SO sorry. let's just say i care about bipartisanship??





	protect the brand

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE please don't show this anyone involved, this is all fake!

He’s on his second piece of cake and his third beer, finishing up their last ad read, when his phone buzzes. It’s Tim.

_How long is this going to take I’m getting tired._

A second one follows fast. 

_I am literally parked outside your house and if Favs sees me he’s going to lecture you for screwing a Republican. Come onnnn_

Jon looks up. Favs is tipsy and forking more cake into his mouth as Emily sits on his lap and giggles. Tim has nothing to worry about.

“Okay, I’m gonna head out,” he says, grabbing his bag. “Emily, are you good to drive? Clearly Jon is not.”

“I had one drink like two hours ago, I’m fine,” she says, laughing when Favs tries to feed her a forkful of frosting. “Happy birthday, babe. Good show tonight!”

“So good!” Favs adds. His face is red. God, he really has the alcohol tolerance of a 15 year old. “So funny. Even Tim. You can tweet him and tell him I said that. _Even Tim_ was funny.”

Jon can just tell him in person, but he doesn’t say that. Favs doesn’t need to worry about who Jon does and doesn’t fuck.

“I’ll let him know,” he says, phone clutched in one hand. “Night, lovebirds. Don’t trash the place.”

He calls an Uber, swipes over to his messages and reads the one Tim sent as he was walking out.

_You have 20 minutes and that’s only because it’s your birthday._

Jon rolls his eyes. _Getting in an uber now, relax. There’s a key in the planter next to the back door._

Tim texts back just as Jon’s sliding into the backseat. The driver barely looks back at him and the radio’s playing tastefully-quiet classical music. Jon’s rating this guy five stars, for sure. Nothing better than an Uber driver who doesn't feel the need to make conversation.

_Im not letting myself into your house like I’m the help. Plus what if your dog attacks me_

Jon huffs a laugh at his phone. _Pundit couldn’t hurt a fly._

 _Pretty useless dog then_ , Tim sends back, and Jon bites down a grin.

\---

Tim’s skulking in the front yard when the Uber pulls up, looking down at his phone.

“Hey,” Jon calls, laughing already as he shuts the door behind him. “Get off my lawn, you creep, I’m calling the cops.”

Tim looks up, immediately rolls his eyes. “Jesus, finally. You have nosy neighbors, you know that? This one lady walked her dog by my car window at least six times.”

“She’s probably a friend of the pod. The people, they worry about me. They worry about my safety.”

“You fucking egomaniac,” Tim says. He follows Jon up the steps, not touching him, but close. Jon unlocks the door and pushes it open.

Pundit’s nowhere to be found, probably asleep on the couch, but Tim walks hesitantly in anyway, like she’s going to lunge from the shadows and attack him with all of her fifteen pounds of fluff.

“This is very unattractive, I gotta tell you,” Jon says, snorting as he watches him. “Like, it’s the number one item on my Tinder profile, must love dogs. Must not be terrified of dogs.”

“Oh no, I don’t live up to Jon Lovett’s exacting standards, I better go kill myself,” Tim says, peeking around the corner into the kitchen. “You don’t really do Tinder, do you? You’re too old for Tinder. And aren’t you technically in a relationship, even if it’s some kind of new-age open-minded I-don’t-care-how-many-people-you-fuck bullshit?”

“Oh, fuck you.” Jon tosses his keys on the counter.

“I’ve been waiting outside your fucking house for it,” Tim says, breathing a laugh. “So you better.”

When Jon turns to look at him he’s leaning against the counter, watching. His mouth’s curved up at the edges. 

“What a birthday present,” Jon says, taking a step closer. Tim’s taller than him but he slouches til they feel like the same height. Jon appreciates it. “A Republican in my driveway. This is what 2017 has wrought. I wanted our first female president and truly universal healthcare, and all I got was a fucking Republican.”

“Hey, don’t take out all your anger on me. I didn’t vote for him.” Tim leans back on his hands, bites his lip in a dirty grin. “Or do, actually. I haven’t been fucked in forever and I kinda don’t wanna be able to sit down tomorrow. Have at it, Lovett.”

Jon laughs, delighted. “Happy birthday to me, I guess.”

“Mm-hm,” Tim murmurs, putting a hand low on his back, drawing him in. “C’mere.”

_\---_

Jon wakes up early the next morning, rolls over to see Tim flat on his back, phone held over his head. He curses softly to himself.

“What?” Jon mumbles, squinting at him with one eye. “Did something happen? Is it North Korea? Is it Bannon?”

“Sports, not politics, Jon,” Tim says, fumbling over to pat his head. He leaves his hand there for a minute, buried in Jon's hair, stroking a little. It feels nice. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

“Oh thank god.” Jon buries his face in his pillow, yawns. God he feels good. They haven’t done this in a while but it’s always good. Most of the time random sex isn’t Jon’s bag, too weird and stressful and the mornings after almost always suck, but it’s fun with Tim, who loves dick and hates sweaty post-coital cuddling the exact same amount that Jon does. 

Tim sets his phone down next to him, yawning. 

"So," he says, tugging another pillow under his head. “How’s your jackass boyfriend? Still a jackass?”

Jon flips him the bird. “I’ll tell him you say hello.”

“This is the problem with these fucking Hollywood liberal elites. No commitment. No family values. Jesus, you’re 35, he should’ve put a ring on your finger by now.”

Jon snorts as he rolls off the bed, fumbles for his boxers. Pundit’s whining at the door, furious at being kept out all night, and he opens it halfway so she can slip through. Tim can just suck it up.

Tim sits up, pulling the duvet up over his lap. “I mean, what is he waiting for? Especially right _now_ , your stock is rising, you’re a hot commodity. You look great, you’re a burgeoning media mogul. And yet he’s working through his childhood trauma fucking twinks in New York.”

“I regret telling you anything, at all, ever. Just so you know.”

“You’re thirty- _five_. That’s five years away from 40. 40!”

“Oh my god, you sound like my mother.” Jon scoops up Pundit and drops her on the bed. “Leave me alone.”

Tim reaches out a tentative hand. “Does he bite?”

“ _She_ , and of course she doesn’t. She’s an angel.”

Pundit sniffs Tim’s hand, licks it, and then clambers onto him, immediately settling down in his lap. 

“She’s very lazy,” Jon says proudly, grabbing a pair of jeans from his closet. “The vet said he’s never seen a dog who sleeps as much as she does.”

“Can’t imagine where she gets it.” Tim strokes her head gingerly. “Where are you going?”

“To get coffee, you want?”

Tim sets Pundit carefully aside and climbs out of bed. “I’m new in town, you gotta show me the best places. Both for good coffee and Kardashian-spotting. I'll even take a Jenner.”

“I was going to go to Starbucks, which is neither. You might see a Real Housewife or something, though. Emily did once.”

Tim rolls his eyes and grabs a t-shirt out of Jon’s dresser.

“Careful,” Jon says. “Anything in my wardrobe could really hurt your brand.”

Tim holds the shirt out, squinting at it, and Jon cackles. Repeal and go fuck yourself. Perfect.

“Case in point,” he says, grabbing it from Tim’s hands. “I’ll take that, thanks. See if you can handle walking around LA with a dirty Obamacare-loving liberal.”

“You don’t love Obamacare, you liar. No one loves Obamacare. Not even Obama loves Obamacare.” Tim digs in the dresser again, holds up a Pod Save America shirt. “Jesus, do you _exclusively_ wear your own merch?”

“I mean, mostly. We also have hats.”

“Is that the level of self-promo you’re at right now? Desperation is so unbecoming, Jon.”

“The people love it, actually. It’s 2017, desperation is very in.”

“Seems so,” Tim says, wrestling a plain white t-shirt over his head. “The audience was like a Crooked Media  _army_ last night, it was wild. Thanks for not calling out my party affiliation, I would've been taken down by a mob of white people in Friend of the Pod shirts.”

“Hey, our country's going to shit, we might as well sell a few shirts on the way down.”

“What a fucking capitalist. I've rubbed off on you.” Tim laughs and smacks his ass. “Take me somewhere other than Starbucks, please, Jon. Show me a little respect.”

Jon snorts, grabs a pod baseball cap off his dresser and shoves it on, just to piss him off. "Coffee Bean it is."


End file.
